Poland on a plate

Best Polish sausage recipes include secrecy as main ingredient

Best Polish sausage recipes include secrecy as main ingredient

April 10, 2006|KAREN RALLO Tribune Staff Writer

Next. Next, please! Gazing out across the long glass counter filled with fresh meats, Wayne Sawyer of Sawyers Meats in South Bend smiles and greets a customer. Later, peering over the case arranged with steaks, ribs and sausages, Sawyer embarks on a journey back in time. "In 1917, my father (Ross Sawyer) first began making Polish sausage," Sawyer says. "By the 1930s, I was helping Dad deliver the sausage to markets on the west side of South Bend. "Back then," Sawyer says wistfully, "there was a market every four blocks." Memories of walking down narrow, wood-floored aisles inside small markets came flooding back when readers were asked, "Where can real Polish sausage be found?" Some longtime area shoppers still recall the short trek to the meat counter at the back of a neighborhood market where they would purchase sausage. The bold scents of herbs and garlic grew ever stronger as they made their way back to a smiling butcher who always knew their names. Folks here have a profound link to Poland in Polish sausage, and although the wood floors may have faded into history, the friendly butcher and that same pungent sausage are still around. Just like his grandfather, Sawyer continues to make Polish sausage along with his grandson, Joe Sawyer. Together, they manage the corner stall at the Farmer's Market in South Bend where the family has been a fixture since 1924. When asked about the 90-year-old family recipe, Sawyer becomes a bit tight-lipped, saying hesitantly, "There's salt and black pepper." Pausing briefly, he adds, "Fennel and garlic." He stops again, not wanting to give away any secrets. What is the secret ingredient that magically transforms ordinary sausage into Polish sausage? Dennis Kurdys of Mishawaka swears it's the marjoram -- an earthy-flavored herb -- that is key to the sausage's transformation. "We've been making it (Polish sausage) for years," Kurdys says as he starts to unravel his family's Polish heritage. "Four generations of Kurdys made Polish sausage, sometimes as much as a couple thousand pounds at a time." Kurdys still uses his great-grandfather's recipe, which he says calls for garlic, salt, pepper and "majeranek" (Polish for marjoram). According to Kurdys, homemade sausage requires that the herb be grown specifically on the west side of town where he lived as a child, "where the earth is rich and good for growing." Now Kurdys says he will have to grow marjoram in his Mishawaka backyard. The soil in Mishawaka may not be as fertile, but Kurdys' Polish heritage grows ever richer as he continues to make Polish sausage for his friends and family this Easter. Mention Polish sausage to Rita Gorski of South Bend and memories of when she was just barely able to reach the kitchen counter return. "Oh, I remember as a girl, I would spend a couple of days in the kitchen helping to cook for Easter. Back then, my grandmother and grandfather would make their own Polish sausage." Gorski knows all too well how Polish sausage should taste. She had high praise for the sausage made at Eby's Old Fashioned Market in South Bend. At Eby's, a small crowd of customers wait patiently as they peer through the glass meat counter. Adrianne Ramos of Niles, a customer at Eby's, pushes a clattering metal cart toward the back of the small store and takes her place in line. "It's the nice people," Ramos says as she pushes the cart on toward the cashier, her meat choices all neatly wrapped in white paper. It's a helping of good, old-fashioned service and the Polish sausage that makes Ramos' weekly trip worthwhile. Denny Ziolkowski, a 53-year South Bend west side resident, claims that "Eby's and Jaworski's are honest-to-goodness meat markets ... making their own Polish sausage." He went on to say that "sausage is delicious if prepared properly." A grinning customer pulls open the door at Jaworski's Market. As she exits the market with a big brown paper bag in her arms, a burst of comforting fragrances -- a variety of herbs and garlic -- escapes from the store. Bright and shiny-clean, Jaworski's was rebuilt after being destroyed by a tornado in 2001. Beneath the new facade, the 1940s original small-store atmosphere prevails, with its narrow, short metal shelves and a prominent L-shaped meat counter across the back and along the side of the building. Preparing Polish sausage is a kind of sacred rite to Chris and Renita Jaworski. The husband and wife team were happy to explain how it should be done. "Place the sausage in a skillet with water, just enough to cover it. Bring the water to a boil, and then turn the heat down and let the meat simmer for 15 to 20 minutes," Renita says. But the two couldn't agree on whether the skillet should be covered or partially covered while the meat is allowed to simmer, proving once again the meat's mystique. Just as there might be a variety of ways to prepare the holiday treat, there are a vast selection of meat markets in the area that sell their own version of Polish sausage. However, the superior sausage, according to Roger Jaquinde of South Bend, can be found only in Chicago. "Gene's in Chicago is the place to go to get REAL Polish sausage," Jaquinde says. "Oh, the smells. It's just like stepping into heaven!" If Jaquinde's assessment -- that Gene's Sausage Shop and Delicatessen at 5330 Belmont Ave. in Chicago is "heaven" -- is true, then wouldn't that make the deli's owner-manager, Derek Luszcz, a sausage god? Luszcz laughs at the thought and explains that the deli has a traditional, Old-World style, and that a combination of smells makes it paradise-like. "The sausage is made right here by guys from Poland ... keeping the old, traditional recipes. The smokehouse is at the rear of the building ... and there's the scent of fresh-baked breads and a variety of homemade salads. The aroma is powerful." But, with so many sausage varieties to choose from, Luszcz had to be pressed to admit that Wiejski (meaning village) is what Americans consider the typical Polish sausage. "You can't leave the store without some Wiejski sausage." Some may know this colorfully flecked gem by the name of the event where it is served, such as wedding or Dyngus sausage. But, whether it's piled high on a steaming buffet or snuggled between two slices of rye bread in the form of a sandwich, Polish sausage continues to be an ethnic treasure. If you're planning a Polish buffet for this Easter, try these time-honored side dishes. Rita Gorski of South Bend will be serving Polish sausage for Easter, along with the following family favorite. Gorski's Green Beans 4 (15-ounce) cans green beans, drained, or about 2 pounds fresh green beans, cooked (see note) 2 tablespoons margarine, divided Sugar 1/2 cup Italian bread crumbs 1 (15-ounce) can cooked carrots, drained Place the drained beans in a skillet with about a tablespoon of margarine, and sauté about a minute. Sprinkle a bit of sugar over the beans and turn the beans over in the skillet. Just before the beans have warmed through, add the second tablespoon of margarine and sprinkle a thin layer of Italian bread crumbs over the top. Finally, add the sliced carrots to the bean combination and warm through. Serves 8. Note: Gorski's grandmother's secret to cooking tender fresh beans is to add a bit of sugar, not salt, to the boiling water. *** This side dish recipe comes from Renita and Chris Jaworski. Fried Cabbage Noodles 2 tablespoons butter or margarine 1/2 medium head green cabbage, chopped Cooked noodles, preferably Kluski (amount to your liking) 1/2 onion, sliced thin, optional 1/2 teaspoon dill weed Salt and pepper to taste In a large skillet, melt butter. Add cabbage, cooked noodles and onions, if using. Fry until cabbage is tender-crisp. Add seasonings and serve.